


Something Like Cartography

by slightlytookish



Category: Whitechapel (TV)
Genre: Angst, First Kiss, First Time, Fluff, Friendship, Getting Together, M/M, Post S4, flatmates
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-01-21
Updated: 2014-01-21
Packaged: 2018-01-09 12:53:58
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,683
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1146229
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/slightlytookish/pseuds/slightlytookish
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>They never did get around to having that drink, but there was no reason why Kent shouldn't ask Chandler again. What did he have to lose, really?</p>
            </blockquote>





	Something Like Cartography

**Author's Note:**

> This takes place after S4, so there are spoilers for the entire series.

Kent didn't really believe in destiny. His auntie was a psychic and he believed in ghosts (and sometimes aswangs and jinns), but he'd never been entirely comfortable with the idea of fate. It had always been difficult for him to believe that some intangible outside force determined if something was meant to be or if it wasn't. He liked to think that he was a detective because of years of hard work, for instance, and not something as utterly random as destiny. 

But he was beginning to wonder if he ought to rethink his stance on fate after the disastrous conclusion to the Abrahamians case. His timing, at least, was impeccable – after years, actual _years_ of trying to pluck up the courage, he couldn't have picked a worse moment to finally ask Chandler for a drink. A drink that never happened, of course – how could he expect it to, when Chandler ended up withdrawing so tightly into himself that even Miles couldn't reach him for ages? Even now, when Chandler seemed better and the team had stopped walking on eggshells around him, Kent hadn't managed to ask him again.

Maybe some things really weren't meant to be.

But that line of thinking only made Kent roll his eyes at himself. He knew he was being ridiculous. Chandler had said yes the first time. The worst that could happen would be him saying no this time. It didn't mean that Kent shouldn't ask him again. What did he have to lose, really?

He looked at his watch. There was only an hour until the end of shift. If he asked Chandler now, and if he said yes, maybe they could even go for a drink tonight. There was nothing strange about that, was there? Just two colleagues going to the pub after work. It was the sort of thing that happened every day.

Before he could lose his nerve, Kent got up and knocked on Chandler's door. 

"Kent," he said, looking up. Was it Kent's imagination or was that the faint outline of a smile on Chandler's face? He mulled over that as Chandler closed the file he'd been reading and set it aside, taking a long moment to make sure that the corners of it were in line with the edges of the desk. When he looked up again, the little smile was still there. It made Kent relax, just a bit. "Did you finish the report?"

"Almost," Kent said. He took a steadying breath before stepping closer to Chandler's desk. Last time he had been so caught up in the excitement of the moment that he'd asked Chandler in front of everyone, but this time he knew he'd rather ask him in private – or at least, as privately as he could hope for it to be, knowing that Miles always kept one ear firmly trained on the boss' office. 

"Sir, I was wondering – I don't know if you remember–" Kent trailed off abruptly under Chandler's increasingly perplexed gaze. He was making a mess of things already. "That drink we were supposed to have. I wondered if you still wanted to go?"

"I can't," Chandler said, and something of the sudden, crushing disappointment that Kent felt must have shown on his face because Chandler quickly went on. "It has nothing to do with you, of course. It's just… I drink too much if I'm not careful. I tell myself that I'm self-medicating, that I need it to – well, to keep things like that under control," he said, gesturing to the perfectly placed file. "I let it get out of hand during the Kray investigation. It was unprofessional of me; I was a complete embarrassment, really. And after what happened with the Abrahamians…" He smiled again, but there was an odd twist to his mouth. Kent couldn't tell if it was shame or sadness, or both. "I've been afraid that if I started drinking now, I'd never stop."

"It's all right, sir. You don't have to explain." Kent tried to smile but something about it felt awkward on his face. He settled for backing away instead. "I'll just – the report–" He didn't wait for Chandler to respond before fleeing to his desk.

Once there, Kent resisted the urge to put his head in his hands. He was such a fool. In all likelihood Chandler probably only said yes the last time because they were all celebrating the Abrahamians' arrest. Kent felt like an idiot for thinking that there was anything more to it than that, for believing that it might have had something to do with him. And worse than that, he felt guilty for inviting Chandler for a drink when it was just the thing he was trying to avoid. What if he'd inadvertently triggered some sort of relapse? The last thing Kent wanted was for Chandler to be in a bad way again, and for it to be his fault. He could feel tears prickling at the corners of his eyes and stared down at the report spread out on the desk before him, unseeing but determined not to cry.

"Kent." He looked up to find Chandler watching him from the doorway to his office. His expression looked grim. "May I have a word?"

"Ooh, someone's in trouble," Mansell said, grinning as he flicked a crumpled piece of paper in his direction. It bounced off his shoulder but Kent didn't even have the energy to tell him to piss off. 

"Yes, sir," was all that he said, trudging into the office under the weight of his teammates' curious gazes. 

"Would you please shut the door?"

Kent felt something cold and uncomfortable settle in the pit of his stomach. He had a sudden, terrifying feeling that Chandler was going to ask him to transfer. He shut the door, ignoring Miles' concerned look, and turned back to face Chandler.

"I wanted to know – please sit, Kent – when you invited me for that drink just now, did you intend for it to be just us? Or was everyone else invited as well?"

Kent's eyes widened. Was he going to be accused of sexual harassment on top of everything else? "Whatever you wanted, sir," he said, and it was the truth. If Chandler had wished to invite the others, Kent would have been disappointed but he wouldn't have put up a fuss.

He thought he saw Chandler's lips twitch into a smile, but it was so brief that he couldn't be sure. "No, Kent," he said quietly. "I asked what you wanted."

Chandler sounded so calm, and his hands were folded so neatly on his desk, that anyone would have thought that he was idly inquiring about the weather. He was a marked contrast to Kent, who couldn't stop the fidgeting of his hands in his lap and whose heart was thudding so loudly that he was certain Chandler could hear it across the desk.

He swallowed heavily. "Just us, sir," he admitted. "At least, that's what I hoped."

This time he didn't imagine Chandler's smile. "That's what I hoped, too." 

Kent's hands stilled in his lap. He couldn't believe that he'd actually heard Chandler properly. "Sir?"

"I wasn't certain what you meant when you asked the first time," Chandler said. "I thought you had said 'me' at first, but then you said 'us,' and I didn't know what you were really asking. That's why I hesitated before I answered; I was trying to figure out what you meant. I wasn't sure if you noticed at the time."

Kent had noticed; that little pause had haunted his thoughts more than he cared to admit. 

"In fact, I've been waiting for you to bring it up again just so I could be certain. I'm – that is–" Chandler cleared his throat before going on. "I'm interested. In you. But I didn't think it would be right to approach you myself, being your superior officer. I didn't want to pressure you if you didn't feel the same." He looked at Kent uncertainly, as if he still expected to be rejected even now.

"Sir," said Kent, deciding that the time for secrets was over. "I've fancied you almost from the first moment you walked into the incident room. I don't think it's possible for you to pressure me into anything."

"Really?" Chandler said, genuinely sounding surprised. Two bright spots of colour appeared high on his cheekbones and he ducked his head a little, looking pleased. "Would you like to have dinner, then? Just us," he added, in case Kent was still wondering. Which he was, deep down.

But for once it was easy for him to ignore those nagging doubts. "Yes, sir," he said, and it was impossible to keep the grin off his face.

*

"Oh my god, what have I done?" he asked, just hours later. He buried his head in his hands so that he didn't have to look at Erica's smile, which wavered between exasperated and fond.

"You agreed to go on a date. That's all," she said, prying his hands from his face. "Now stop being an idiot. If you keep carrying on like this you're going to give yourself more grey hairs, you know."

"Shut up," Kent said, but there was no heat in his words. "I can't help it. What if he decides it's all a big mistake? What if he calls it all off – or worse, what if we go through with it and it's horrible? What if we have nothing to say to each other, and it's all awkward and uncomfortable? What if–?"

"What if you and the boss end up getting married? Can I walk you down the aisle?"

Kent whirled around so quickly that he banged his knee on the table leg. "You told him?" he demanded, wincing at the pain as he looked between his sister and Mansell, who was standing in the doorway to the kitchen, nearly doubled over in laughter. "What are doing here, anyway?"

"It's my bloody flat! Where else would I be?"

"Erica said you were out!"

"I only went to get some milk," Mansell said, still grinning as he held up a bag. He leaned down to kiss Erica hello and then lightly cuffed Kent on the side of the head as he edged around him to put the milk away. "And she didn't have to tell me anything. I'm a detective too, you muppet, and your partner. Did you really think I never noticed?"

"Does everyone know, then?" Kent asked, dreading the answer. 

"There may have been a few bets placed but you didn't hear it from me. Buchan owes me twenty quid now, by the way," Mansell said, grinning. "Fifty quid if there's sex on the first date. No pressure, though."

"Oh god," Kent said, slumping in his chair. 

"Listen, Em," Erica said, taking his hand and swinging it between them like they used to do when they were kids. "There's nothing to worry about. From everything I've heard about your boss, it doesn't sound like he would've asked you to dinner if he didn't really mean it. He's not the sort of person that does things lightly, is he? Or the sort of person that surrounds himself with people and things that he doesn't like. He _wants_ to spend time with you. So just relax. Enjoy yourself for a change."

"Yeah," Mansell said, his expression turning serious. "You'll be all right. The boss looked happy today, anyway, and I think that's all down to you."

Kent couldn't help brightening a little at the thought. "Yeah?" 

Mansell nodded. "I've never seen him smile that much before, have you? Just one thing..."

"What?"

"Are you still going to call him sir when you're in bed together?" 

"Fuck off," Kent said, though he doubted that Mansell could hear him over the sound of his own laughter.

*

Work the next day was surprisingly normal. Kent didn't know what he'd been expecting, but a day of routine phone calls and reports and one quick call out to a non-fatal stabbing wasn't it. 

There were a few new things, though: the considering looks that Miles kept throwing his and Chandler's way, how Riley grinned whenever she caught Kent's eye, Mansell's insufferable winks.

Then there was Chandler. Kent hadn't expected him to mention their date, and he didn't, but the little smiles he gave Kent when he thought no one was looking, the way he patted Kent's shoulder in thanks when he turned in his report but let his hand rest there just a moment longer than usual – they were new too, but they were the sort of different that Kent could get used to easily.

And then, when everyone was clocking off for the evening and Kent was digging in his pocket for his keys, Chandler appeared at his side. "Would you like a lift home?"

The question shocked a smile out of Kent. "No, sir, I've got my bike," he said, regretting its existence for the first time as he finally freed his keys from his pocket. "Thanks, though."

"Of course. I wasn't thinking." The slight shake of Chandler's head and his embarrassed huff of laughter proved that Kent wasn't the only one that was nervous about this new, uncharted territory that they were traversing together. "Shall I pick you up tomorrow evening, though?" he asked, sounding hopeful.

"All right," Kent said, still grinning. It didn't seem like he would be able to stop any time soon. "Thank you."

"I'll see you then," Chandler said, meeting Kent's eyes with a smile. He lingered for a moment as if he wanted to say more, before apparently realising that Riley and Mansell weren't even trying to hide that they were watching and that Miles was taking an extraordinarily long time to put on his coat. Looking harassed, Chandler made a swift retreat to his office. 

"'Night, sir," Kent called over his shoulder as he headed to the door, partly to reassure Chandler and partly to let the others know that the show was over before they thoroughly spooked the boss. 

"Goodnight," Chandler said, addressing the whole room, though Kent was the subject of his grateful-looking smile. It was enough to make Kent smile back (it really was impossible for him to stop) and even suffer the headlock that Mansell pulled him into once they left the incident room, ruffling his hair as Riley squealed in his ear, without complaint. 

*

Kent supposed it was too much to hope that his flatmates would be out, or that they at least would have had enough tact to make themselves scarce. What he didn't expect, however, was to find them perched in a row on the sofa, waiting expectantly for him to emerge from his bedroom.

He didn't expect the running commentary, either. 

"You're not wearing that, are you?" Helen asked, wrinkling her nose.

Kent looked down at his suit. It was his best one. "What's wrong with it?" 

Ruby rolled her eyes. "You look like you're going to work," she said. "Not like you're going on a date with your sexy DI."

The criticism made him pause. He was fairly certain that Chandler would be wearing a suit as well; Kent could count on one hand the number of times he had seen him in anything else. At the very least he figured Chandler would appreciate that he'd made an effort to look his best. Just then he remembered Buchan's book launch and felt a sudden spike of panic at the thought of Chandler turning up at his flat in a tuxedo. If that was the sort of thing he wore to a party in a bookshop, what did he wear on a date?

"At least do something about your hair," Gemma said, distracting him from his thoughts as she got to her feet. There was an alarming gleam in her eyes as she reached out, lightning-fast, and tousled his very carefully arranged curls.

"Get off!" He flinched away from her, ducking his head and desperately trying to flatten his hair. He'd spent far more time than he ever wanted to admit attempting to give it some semblance of order and now it felt hopelessly out of control. Worst of all, he was expecting Chandler to arrive at any moment so there was no time for him to fix it.

"Don't any of you have somewhere else to be?" he said, glaring at them as he straightened his tie and smoothed down the lapels of his jacket, everything left in disarray after Gemma's attack. It was rare to find all three of his flatmates at home in the evenings, and rarer still to find them all in the lounge together. 

"We thought we'd see you off," Ruby said brightly. "Someone's got to tell your date that he'll have to deal with us if he hurts you."

"Don't you dare," Kent said. "Don't even joke about it."

"Are you using your policeman voice on us?" Helen said, sounding amused. "We're just looking out for you. It's not every day that you have a date."

"Not even every month," added Gemma.

"Or year."

"When _was_ the last time you went on a date?"

"Hang on," Ruby said in mock horror. "I always thought you were secretly a monk. My whole life is a lie!" She pretended to sob into a pillow as Gemma and Helen patted her back and made soothing noises.

"Ha, ha," Kent said, rolling his eyes. He loved his flatmates, he really did, but in smaller doses. It helped that all four of them were hardly ever at home at the same time. But when the girls were all together and in the right mood they could be as bad as Mansell with their teasing.

"Anyway," Ruby said, throwing aside the pillow with a grin. "We just had to see this DI Chandler that you've been pining for."

"I haven't been _pining_." 

"You have," Helen said, nodding sagely. "It's all very romantic. Like something out of a Victorian novel."

"We were going to get you a chaise longue for your birthday," Gemma said. "Just in case you started swooning."

"I bought the smelling salts already."

"You ought to ask your boyfriend how he feels about corsets. They make some nice ones in your size, Emerson."

"Yeah, I'll let you know," Kent said, trying to sound flippant even though his cheeks were burning at the thought. He suspected his flatmates were too busy laughing to notice, however. He changed his mind; they were worse than Mansell when they got going.

At any rate, he couldn't subject Chandler to his flatmates' nonsense. The team took such care not to spook the boss at work. This would be like throwing Chandler to the wolves. In a sewer. Without a clean shirt to change into afterwards. Kent tugged on his coat, planning to wait for him outside. 

"Have fun!"

"Don't do anything we wouldn't do!"

"Did you pack enough condoms?"

That only set them off laughing again.

"Piss off," he said, though he was smiling a little too as he flung open the door. His grin faltered, though, when he saw Chandler standing on the other side, his hand poised as if to knock and an expression of alarm on his face. 

"Sir?" Kent said, his voice absolutely not squeaking. Behind him the laughter stopped abruptly.

"Kent. Ah." Chandler's attempt at a smile looked distinctly pained. "Hello."

Kent felt his stomach drop to somewhere around his knees. Just how long had Chandler been standing there? How much had he heard? He desperately wanted to know but he knew that asking right now, with everyone watching, would only make an awkward situation even worse. 

Instead he swallowed heavily and tried to turn the conversation in a more comfortable direction. "Please come in," he said, and when Chandler didn't move Kent took hold of his elbow and gently steered him into the lounge. "These are my flatmates," he added, gesturing to them. "Helen, Ruby, and Gemma."

There was a brief pause during which Chandler looked like he was trying not to hyperventilate, but then he took a steadying breath and strode over to the sofa to greet them. "It's a pleasure to meet you," he said, shaking each one's hand in turn. "I'm Joe."

Chandler had always managed to surprise Kent. When they first met, he couldn't quite wrap his head around the idea of a policeman that was so adverse to blood and dirt, smells and clutter. He'd never before witnessed such a passionate outburst over ties and food wrappers from a DI. At the time it had made Kent feel a bit better about occasionally needing to lock himself in the toilets and have a little cry whenever a case got to be too much for him. Later, after Chandler's idea of surprising his team extended to fighting a suspect in the boxing ring and deliberately walking into the range of a gunman, Kent found himself wishing for something as quaint as a lecture on the merits of deodorant. 

And yet he still caught himself gaping at the sight of Chandler making small talk with his flatmates. He had seen Chandler drag himself up from the depths of many a personal crisis to deal with a pressing matter at work, and yet watching him as he patiently listened to Gemma tell a funny story about her students still managed to astonish him. It was no less surprising when Chandler turned to him as if nothing had happened and calmly asked if he was ready to go.

"Yes," Kent managed, stopping just short of adding _sir_ as they said their goodbyes and headed to the door. Out of the corner of his eye he spotted Gemma grinning at him, thumbs up in approval, as Ruby and Helen looked on with matching soppy smiles. When the door finally closed behind them Kent distinctly heard Ruby squeal, "He's bloody gorgeous!" followed by a peal of giggles. 

Thankfully Chandler didn't notice, or if he did, it didn't appear to make him panic. Still, Kent couldn't help worrying as they walked down the stairs, and by the time they made it onto the street his stomach had tied itself into knots. 

"I'm sorry, sir," he said, unable to look at him. "I don't know how much you heard and the girls didn't mean anything by it; they just like a laugh. But the last thing I'd want is for you to be uncomfortable and it looked like you were, and–" Kent knew that he was babbling and clamped his lips shut, feeling hopelessly awkward.

There was a pause, which only made Kent assume the worst, at least until he felt a light touch on his shoulder. His head snapped up in time to see Chandler smiling at him – not the small, tense smile from earlier either, but a warm and slightly bashful one. 

"Was I that obvious? Never mind," Chandler said, his smile growing at the expression of disbelief on Kent's face. "I'm better now," he added. "It just took me a moment to get used to the idea."

Get used to what idea, Kent wanted to know – teasing flatmates, reminders to pack lots of condoms, _corsets_? His heart started beating so quickly that he thought it was going to fall out and drop onto the pavement. 

"And please," said Chandler, still smiling as he unlocked the door to his car and held it open for Kent to climb inside, "when we're not on duty, call me Joe."

Kent managed to recover his voice by the time Chandler made it around to his side of the car. "You should call me by my name, too," he said, because even though he had never particularly liked his first name he still wanted to hear Chandler say it. "Joe," he added, just because he could, now.

The delighted look on Chandler's face was another surprise, though. "Very well. Emerson," he said, trying it out, and Kent thought that he might start liking his name at this late date, after all.

*

It was strange, being in a restaurant with Chandler. They'd eaten together before but only with the rest of the team there, celebrating birthdays or anniversaries or Mansell's many weddings. Kent half expected the others to walk through the door behind them or for one of their phones to start ringing, announcing that they had a new case. 

But their mobiles stayed quiet and no one intruded as they settled across from each other at a table. Kent was tempted to order a strong drink to steady his nerves but took one look at Chandler's sparkling water and decided against it. His sister had told him to relax and enjoy himself, but Kent still felt on edge. Everything seemed so new and strange – everything except for the way that Chandler immediately lined up his fork and knife with his plate, and spent a moment shifting his glass minutely until it rested just so.

"Sorry," Chandler said, looking down at his plate in obvious embarrassment when he caught Kent watching. "I can't help it."

Kent hesitated. He didn't know what to say or to do – it wasn't as if Chandler's way of ordering his surroundings was new to him and Kent had even developed the habit of organising his desk in a similar way, though something told him that Chandler wouldn't appreciate it now if he copied the way he'd lined up his knife and fork. 

If this were an investigation, this would have been the moment when Kent went over to the whiteboard and studied the names and the photographs, trying to make sense of the clues and hoping to spot some sort of pattern that would help them figure out what their next move should be. But this wasn't an inquiry and he felt adrift, as if he'd been set down in an unknown land with an empty map and instructions to fill it in. One false move might send him plummeting over the edge of a cliff that he hadn't known existed.

It wasn't an investigation, but that didn't stop him from studying Chandler. Kent always found it hard to keep from noticing things – it used to get him in trouble at school, and with his family, but he never could help it. The observation part was easy; it was doing something about the things he saw that often proved to be more difficult. 

But now as he looked at Chandler he saw nothing that served as a clue, nothing that told him how he ought to respond – all he noted was the way the lights caught on Chandler's hair and made it gleam a brighter gold than usual. It was instinct, then, that made Kent slowly slide his hand across the table and place it lightly on top of Chandler's. He was so tired of hesitating, of always holding back. Maybe he didn't need to any more. 

Chandler looked up sharply and Kent offered him a reassuring smile. He waited for Chandler to shrug him off, to move his hand away – he'd observed enough over the years to know that Chandler wasn't always comfortable with physical contact. In many ways Kent was the same; he didn't always like to be touched, either. But when Chandler turned his hand around instead so that it rested palm-to-palm with Kent's and smiled in return, Kent knew that they were going to be all right.

*

"Your hair," Chandler said later, when they had nearly finished their salads. "There's something different about it."

"It was Gemma," Kent said, unable to resist pulling a face at the reminder. Somehow he'd managed to forget all about it. "She ambushed me just before you arrived." He resisted the urge to smooth down his hair by reaching for his glass instead.

"I like it," Chandler said, causing Kent to choke on his drink.

"They seemed nice," Chandler added once Kent had finished coughing and made a mental note to thank Gemma the next time he saw her. "Your flatmates."

"Nice to _you_ ," Kent grumbled, though he couldn't keep from smiling.

"What do they do?"

"Gemma's a teacher, as you heard. Year 4, and apparently they're all little terrors. Helen's a physio, and Ruby's doing some sort of advanced economics degree. I don't really know the specifics, I always try and ignore her whenever she starts going on about it."

Chandler huffed a laugh. "I knew that you didn't live alone but I suppose I never expected you to have so many flatmates, or for them all to be women." 

"It's actually not too different from living with men," Kent said. "Aside from some of the things you end up finding in the bathroom. And the fact that they've all forced me to be their plus one for more weddings than I ever wanted to attend since we started living together."

Chandler scrunched up his nose. "I knew there was a reason why I never wanted flatmates," he said, though he didn't sound as appalled as Kent might have expected. He seemed more intrigued by the idea than anything else.

"It's not that bad," Kent said. "And it's nice having other people around sometimes, especially when there's a difficult case on." 

"I can imagine," Chandler said, sounding so wistful that Kent felt his heart clench.

"Have you always lived alone?"

"Since leaving home, yes," Chandler said. "And before that it was just my mother and me, really. My father died when I was quite young but even when he was alive he wasn't around much. He was always working and when he was home he was… rather distant."

"You don't have any siblings, then?"

Chandler shook his head. "I gave my mother enough trouble all on my own."

"Not you," Kent said, trying and failing to imagine Chandler as teenaged terror.

"Did you think all of this started in adulthood?" Chandler asked, his voice taking on a wry tone as he nodded towards the glasses – his and Kent's – that he'd lined up in perfect symmetry with the salt and pepper. "I've always been a mess."

"Who isn't?" Kent said, thinking of scars and jealousy and distorted reflections in mirrors.

That surprised another laugh out of Chandler. "Miles said something like that the other day, when I spoke to him about you." He must have caught sight of the sudden terror in Kent's face because he rushed to reassure him. "I haven't repeated anything you said to him; I wouldn't betray your confidence like that. It was more like Miles noticing that I was interested in you and telling me in no uncertain terms that I ought to do something about it."

Despite the fact that Kent's heart was still firmly lodged in his throat, he managed a smile. "What else did Skip say?"

"I'm not sure if the language he used would allow me to repeat it here," Chandler said, shooting a glance at their fellow diners. "But the general idea was that I needed to stop making excuses for myself and 'just get on with it,' as he said. Miles also seemed to think that you wouldn't run away screaming if I asked you to dinner."

"He was right," Kent said, still smiling. "I never imagined Skip as a matchmaker, though."

"You'd be surprised," Chandler said, so darkly that Kent wondered just how many times Miles had meddled in his personal life over the years, and just how much he'd take the piss out of both of them – and Miles would, there was no question of that – when they returned to work.

Strangely enough, Kent didn't mind the thought as much as he might have expected.

*

When they finished dinner and were almost ready to leave, Kent excused himself to the toilets and tapped out a quick group text to his flatmates: _Coming home soon. Hope you're not still on the sofa._ He didn't know if Chandler would agree to come inside, or if he would even invite him in when the time came, but Kent didn't want a repeat of what had happened before.

The response, from Helen, came as he was washing his hands. _Aye, captain._

Kent rolled his eyes, but felt relieved all the same as he tucked his phone away.

It had started raining during dinner, and the glare of the lights reflecting off the slick road was a good enough excuse for Kent to keep sneaking glances at Chandler once they were back in the car. Their conversation had slowed somewhat since they'd left the restaurant, but the silent moments weren't awkward – much to Kent's surprise they felt oddly comfortable, especially after Chandler briefly caught his eye and gave him that pleased little smile that Kent had already grown so fond of during the past few days. The sight of it made him release a tense breath he hadn't known he'd been holding, and he decided he would ask Chandler if he wanted to come in, potential embarrassing run-ins with his flatmates be damned. He could offer him tea, at least. Kent just hoped that there was milk in the fridge, and no dirty dishes piled in the sink. He hadn't thought to check earlier.

Kent was dragged away from his thoughts by the sound of Chandler clearing his throat. When he glanced over it was just in time to see Chandler quickly looking away, before sliding his eyes back to rest on Kent. They were stopped at a light that Kent hadn't noticed turning red, and he realised with a start that Chandler's hands were tightly gripping the steering wheel. It was as anxious as he'd seen Chandler all evening, since that awkward bit at the beginning, and Kent was about to ask what was wrong when Chandler suddenly blurted, "Do you want to come back to mine for tea? I have coffee too, if you prefer." 

Kent was grateful that it was probably too dark for Chandler to notice his growing blush. "Tea would be great," he said, smiling. Chandler's face broke out into a matching grin that didn't go away even when the light turned green and he turned his attention back to the road.

They had just turned on to Chandler's street when Kent's mobile beeped. He fished it out of his pocket and saw a text from Gemma. _Got lost on the way home? Or just distracted? ;)_

"Sorry," Kent said, shooting Chandler an apologetic look as he parked the car. "Flatmates are checking up on me." They'd started doing that after the Krays attacked him, when he'd woken up in hospital the following day with his mobile battery nearly dead from all the frantic messages they'd left when he hadn't come home. Since then he'd always taken care to let them know if he'd be late or working through the night, and they'd done the same for him. 

Now he sent a quick text back – _Change of plans, going back to his_ – and he didn't even have a chance to put his phone away before three replies came in quick succession:

_omg!!!!!!!!!!!!!_

_:D :D :D_

_Told u to pack condoms!_

*

Chandler's flat looked similar to how Kent had always pictured it: open plan decorated in lots of beiges and browns, the furniture all very modern with a few framed prints hanging on the walls, and everything spotlessly clean without a drop of clutter anywhere. One look at the pale, pristine carpet stretching from wall to wall was enough to make Kent kick off his shoes at the door before he even removed his coat, which earned him an amused look from Chandler even though he was doing the same.

"Please make yourself at home," was all that he said, though, taking Kent's coat and hanging it beside his own before leading the way to the kitchen. Kent had to sternly remind himself that he didn't need to tiptoe on the carpet.

The kitchen was familiar-looking enough that Kent was able to relax a bit as he watched Chandler ready the tea things. A box of the green tea that he knew Chandler favoured emerged from a cupboard, followed immediately by another box, this one containing Kent's favourite tea, the kind he always bought for home and for the incident room. The box was unopened, and he knew that Chandler didn't especially care for it. There was only one reason for that particular brand of tea to be in his kitchen, and the realisation made Kent's heart do a strange little flip.

"I noticed that you prefer these," Chandler said, nudging the box towards him when he caught Kent looking. The tips of his ears burned red and Kent had to hide a grin.

"Cheers," he said, pulling a teabag out of the box and dropping it into a mug. He supposed that Chandler probably knew what everyone on his team ate and drank and when they did, but Kent hadn't thought to find his tea of choice here, in Chandler's flat. It was completely unexpected, and entirely sweet. 

"It's no trouble," Chandler said, though he sounded pleased. There was a tension in his shoulders that Kent didn't like, though, and a slight wrinkling of his brow that he didn't care to see either. This time he didn't hesitate to rest his hand on Chandler's where it lay on the counter, just as he had in the restaurant. 

Chandler looked down at their hands, smiling, and a little of the tension seeped out of his shoulders. It wasn't enough, though, so Kent felt perfectly justified when he leaned up and kissed him.

The angle was off and Kent was tentative, too unsure of how Chandler would respond to dare anything more than the gentlest press of lips. At first there was no reaction, just the shock that he could feel radiating from Chandler, and Kent very nearly pulled away. But then Chandler turned slightly and tugged him closer, deepening the kiss in one swift movement. When his hand came up to curl around the back of Kent's head, Kent couldn't hold back a small contented sigh as he finally relaxed into the kiss.

They drew apart slowly when the kiss ended, only then realising that the kettle was boiling. Chandler switched it off but his movements were slow and almost absent-minded, and when he turned back to Kent there was a strange little smile playing about his face that made him look startled and pleased and oddly bashful. "If you were trying to distract me, that's the way to do it."

"Maybe I was," Kent said, offering him a lopsided grin as he filed that bit of knowledge away for future reference. "Though I've wanted to do that for a while so I wasn't being entirely unselfish. Did you mind?"

"Did it seem like I minded?" Chandler said, sounding amused, and Kent was the one left blinking at him in surprise. He wasn't accustomed to a Chandler that joked, but he thought he could easily get used to it.

When the tea was ready they carried their mugs into the lounge. Chandler seemed calmer now, but Kent could tell by the length of time he spent arranging the coasters and then their mugs on the coffee table that something was still bothering him.

"Sorry," Chandler said, finally relinquishing his hold on Kent's mug. He took up his own and stared into it, as if he expected the tea to tell him something. 

"I didn't expect anything more than tea when you invited me here," Kent said, taking a sip. "I still don't." It was true, stolen kisses notwithstanding. There was no telling what would spook Chandler and Kent didn't want to push him. He had plenty of experience waiting, after all.

Chandler rubbed at his eyes, his tea still untouched. "Am I always this obvious to you?"

"Sometimes my thoughts get too loud," Kent admitted. "I can usually tell when someone else is having the same trouble."

Chandler smiled faintly and finally sipped at his tea. "I haven't ever, with a man," he said abruptly. "And it's been a while since I've… spent time with anyone." He set his mug aside and spent a long moment ensuring that the handle was parallel to the edge of the coffee table. "But I would like for it to be you," he said, meeting Kent's eyes at last.

Kent managed to return his mug to its coaster just before Chandler kissed him again. This time there was no hesitation or uncertainty between them, and Kent gasped when he felt the first brush of Chandler's tongue against his own. That seemed to encourage Chandler to tug Kent closer, and then Kent stopped thinking of anything at all except for the press of Chandler's lips against his own and the feel of Chandler's face and his hair beneath his hands. When they broke apart to catch their breath Kent found himself sprawled half in Chandler's lap with no recollection of how he'd got there, though neither one of them seemed inclined to put some space between them anytime soon. 

"Do you want to…?" Chandler's voice trailed off, as if he expected Kent to fill in the blanks. Maybe he did. Whatever he meant, Kent wanted it.

"Yes," he said, knowing that he was grinning like a fool and not really caring. Chandler gave him the bewildered smile of a man who couldn't quite believe his luck, and Kent had to force himself to stand because if he started kissing Chandler again now, he might never stop. 

Chandler wasn't the sort of person to throw off his clothes and let them land where they may even at a time like this, so Kent wasn't entirely surprised when they got to his bedroom and he took the time to drape each item as it came off over the leather armchair in the corner, leaving enough room for Kent to do the same. He suspected that this was a major deviation from Chandler's normal nightly routine, a concession made entirely for Kent's sake, and he didn't mind having to wait a little longer even though it gave Chandler the chance to see his scars. 

He knew that it had to happen at some point and that it wasn't as if Chandler didn't already know that they were there, but he'd hoped it would happen later. Much later. But when he saw Chandler's eyes skitter away, careful not to linger after the first glimpse, Kent thought, well, maybe it wouldn't be so bad to get it out of the way right now. It was the elephant in the room, and he wanted to show it to the door. "You can look at them. I don't mind."

"I wouldn't want to make you uncomfortable," Chandler said, still being so careful not to look. "I don't need to see."

Kent doubted that. It was the detective in him; the constant need to observe and make sense of things was impossible to turn off, and Kent knew that better than anyone. His sister teased him about it all the time, how he was never truly off duty. It was in his blood, just as it was in Chandler's, and if their situations were reversed Kent didn't know if he would be able to stop himself from looking.

"I don't mind if it's you," he said, and he meant it. "Just – come here, Joe. Please." He reached for Chandler and focused on the breadth of his shoulders and the smoothness of his skin until Chandler drew back. Kent offered him a smile that was wobbly despite his best efforts. "I know they're horrible."

"But you're not," Chandler said. His hand, already low on Kent's back, dropped low enough for his fingertips to lightly skim the worst of the scars, the one that had made the doctors so concerned about his sciatic nerve. Kent didn't flinch away. It seemed more fitting to pull Chandler into a kiss instead.

When they finally reached the bed it was in a tangle of arms and legs. The warm weight of Chandler all around him, the knowledge that Kent now could touch him and kiss him and hold him close was overwhelming but that didn't stop him from trying to do everything at once. 

"Is this all right?" he said, drawing back enough to see Chandler's face. He could feel the hard line of Chandler's cock against his hip so he had a good idea that it was, but he still wanted to be certain.

"More than all right," Chandler said, sounding as breathless Kent felt. "Did you want to – tell me what you want, Emerson. Please."

"You must have some idea," Kent said, shifting his hips so that Chandler could feel the hard press of him, too. His words startled a laugh out of Chandler, but the second slide of Kent's cock against his own made him gasp instead. 

"Could we do this?" Chandler said, gripping Kent by the hips and pulling him closer. His face was flushed, his hair was in complete disarray, and Kent thought that he had never looked more beautiful than he did at this moment. "Would you mind it, this time?"

The implication that there would be other times, other opportunities, made something warm and happy bloom in Kent's chest. "I have condoms," he said, his eyes flicking over to where his clothes were thrown over the chair. "Do you want to – for the mess–?" He started to slide away but Chandler surprised him by shaking his head.

"Stay here, please," he said, sliding one hand up Kent's back to draw him close again, and the only way that Kent knew how to answer him was with a kiss. 

Chandler surged up to meet him, his hand coming up to tangle itself in Kent's hair as they kissed, each one growing more urgent than the last as they rocked against each other. Kent could tell from the changing hitch in his breath that Chandler was close, and when he finally reached down to wrap his hand around both of their cocks Chandler came with a groan. That spurred Kent on, but not as much as the feel of Chandler's hand joining his a moment later, matching him stroke for stroke. Kent's hips stuttered and it didn't take long for him to follow, pushing into Chandler's hand before dropping boneless onto the sturdiness of his chest.

The kiss that followed was slow and lingering, and despite the shakiness of his limbs Kent was the one to pull away first, hyper aware that he was probably crushing Chandler. "All right?"

"Yes."

"You sound surprised."

"I suppose I am," Chandler said with a laugh, though from the way his face settled into a soft smile Kent sensed that he was probably more surprised by himself than anything else. "Not by you, though. You're wonderful."

Kent thought it was a bit ridiculous that after everything that had happened, _this_ was what made him blush, but it didn't stop him from kissing Chandler again. He could feel it when Chandler started getting restless, though, and drew back enough to see the growing discomfort on his face. 

"I have to shower," he said, carefully not looking at the mess on his stomach. It didn't surprise Kent – in fact, he supposed he should be surprised that Chandler had managed to hold out for that long – but he didn't anticipate what Chandler said next. "You could join me, if you'd like."

Chandler's bathroom was enormous, and the shower more than large enough to accommodate the two of them. Kent left Chandler to his own routine and tried not to let himself get too distracted by all the fancy water jets. 

"Would you like to stay?" Chandler asked when Kent emerged from under the blast of the showerhead.

Kent pushed back the hair that was dripping into his eyes and squinted at Chandler, wondering if he had misheard. "You wouldn't mind?"

Chandler smiled as he held open the shower door for him. "I wouldn't have asked if I minded."

"Then I'd love to," Kent said, accepting the towel Chandler held out with a grin. 

Chandler also found him a new toothbrush ("I buy four or five at a time," he admitted, looking only slightly abashed) and a t-shirt and some pyjama bottoms to wear that Kent had to roll three times at the waist to keep from tripping over them. He supposed it should feel strange to be so comfortable in Chandler's home already, to feel so welcomed there, but Chandler didn't give him any reason to feel otherwise.

It wasn't until they were about to climb back into bed that Chandler's smile faltered. Kent noticed the damp spot near the centre of the bed at the same moment that he did, but Chandler was the one that was staring at it with a look of dread, one corner of the blanket clasped in a tense hand.

"Where do you keep your sheets?" Kent asked. 

Chandler sent him a grateful look before wordlessly leading him to the airing cupboard but later, after they'd changed the sheets together and Chandler had marched them out of the room to some undisclosed location (Kent had half expected Chandler to do the laundry right then, but he returned too quickly), he climbed back into Kent's arms and dropped a kiss into his still-damp hair. "I'm sorry to be such a nuisance."

"I'll let you know when I start minding."

"No, I mean it." Chandler sounded genuinely distressed. "It isn't fair of me to ask so much of you."

"But you didn't ask me, and I'm not offering anything that I don't want to give." Kent rolled onto his side in order to see Chandler's face and smiled at his incredulous look. "It doesn't bother me. Really. And I know my flatmates, and my sister, and Mansell, and everyone else would tell you that I'm not always the easiest person to put up with all the time either." Chandler's smile was faint but it was there, and Kent shrugged the shoulder that he wasn't leaning on "It doesn't mean that anyone is a nuisance; it's just life. And we all do things for the people we care about."

Chandler's smile turned soft in a way that he hadn't ever seen before, and Kent only had time to think of how much he wanted to see that smile again before Chandler pulled him into another kiss that lingered, slow and deep. 

"Your flatmates," Chandler said after the kiss ended and Kent was resting his head on Chandler's shoulder. "Do you need to let them know not to expect you tonight?"

Kent thought of his phone, across the room and still in the pocket of his jacket, and shook his head. 

"They'll figure it out," he said, certain that they already had. When he checked his mobile in the morning there would probably be half a dozen messages from them, each one laced with more innuendo than the last. Erica would figure it out too, just by looking at him; they had always been able to do that, since before they could even talk. And then of course Mansell would know, and Miles – Miles probably already knew somehow, and was thinking of witty things to say when he saw them next.

It sounded an awful lot like fate, when Kent thought of it like that. At one time the inevitability of it all would have bothered him – the teasing, the anticipation of other people's reactions, and his inability to do anything to change any of it would have left him feeling anxious or frustrated. 

But now none of it bothered Kent as much as he would have expected. He was happy, he realised, and maybe that was what made the difference. That, and the knowledge that he wouldn't have to face any of it alone. Not anymore. Kent slung his arm around Chandler's waist and met his answering smile with a grin of his own.

This was their future, and they would map it out together.


End file.
